


More Real Than Reality

by GalaxyGazing



Category: Repo! The Genetic Opera (2008)
Genre: Anal Sex, Drugs, Hallucinations, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Rimming, Self-cest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-12-10 18:23:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/788795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyGazing/pseuds/GalaxyGazing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Nathan refuses to repossess Mag's eyes, Rotti administers a drug to him, forcing him to confront the darker side of himself and remember who he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Real Than Reality

It was an incredible drug, really.  
  
The room was empty and that was probably the only real thing about it.  
  
Nathan looked down at his hands.  
  
Advancements in medicine had rocketed in the past few years. None were miraculous enough to solve the organ epidemic, but every now and again on the near-hopeless quest for a cure, a new drug would be discovered that hadn’t been meant to.  
  
Zydrate was one such drug. No one could argue that the sparking anesthetic was discovered with pure intentions (it needed to be deliberately drained from the dead) but now that the secret was out, no one was going to argue the use of it. Or the misuse of it, even.  
  
This wasn’t Zydrate.  
  
This was not nearly as straightforward.  
  
Whatever this was, it was subtle and classy—invisible, odorless, and undetectable.  
  
Years ago, during his more ethical surgical practices, Nathan could have appreciated this drug from a medical standpoint; in sheer awe of the success of its devilish intent.  
  
But not now, not in this situation.  
  
Not as the user.  
  
Nathan looked down at his hands.  
  
The transition was smooth, _so_ smooth that Nathan’s only indication that he had been ensnared by the effects of a hallucinogen was the recollection that his hands had been tied behind his back.  
  
They were now folded neatly in his lap.  
  
Everything else was the same: quiet, unnervingly so. Nathan had been clinging to bare, tattered threads of reality for who knows how long before he realized that there had never been any threads at all. That was the hardest part, trying to remember time. How long had it been since he’d come here?  
  
Nathan sucked in a deep breath. He thought of Marni and Shilo, things that made him sad but calm. Their faces came easily to his mind’s eye. He visited his memories too frequently for any dust to collect on them.  
  
Thoughts of his beloved late wife always filled him with nostalgia, bitter and wonderful enough to force him to remember what was important in life. Thoughts of his daughter always grounded him the immediacy of the present whenever he felt he was slipping away from it. He tried to focus on those things and keep a level head. Why had he come here?  
  
Recent memories filtered in slowly, as if he were opening a ball of paper that had been crinkled to read what had been written on it. The audio was crackly, garbled, it popped close to his ears.  
  
“Mag,” Rotti’s voice said. Mag was to be Nathan’s next victim. Of course, he remembered.  
  
He also remembered saying no. There was an argument.  
  
“I can see (can see) you need some time to think,” Rotti’s voice tripped over itself in Nathan’s memory. His sons had been there, grinning around him. Perhaps it was one of them that had administered the dose.  
  
He remembered thick, unyielding rope. His hands were secured behind his back, bound to the rungs of the metal chair that he was currently seated in. Someone had sprayed something in his face, something that made his pupils blow wide.  
  
Afterward, the three Largos left, closed the door behind them, and Nathan hadn’t moved from the chair.  
  
That was it.  
  
Nathan looked behind himself to see if one of them had simply done a slipshod job of tying him up. Perhaps the rope had fallen off.  
  
There was no rope.  
  
The room was plain and too white. There was not much in it except for him, the chair, and an insignificant metal table on wheels somewhere off in the corner. The floor tile was white, the ceiling was white. Fluorescent bulbs hummed and tinkled normally overhead.  
  
Cautiously, Nathan stood to his feet. The obvious thing to do was try the door but his instincts advised him to assess the situation before making any sudden movements.  
  
Highly aware that he was under a deception of the senses, he simply turned around to stare at the door from where he stood.  
  
“It’s locked.”  
  
Nathan’s entire body went cold and he jolted harshly.  
  
He was in an empty room and that voice did not come from him.  
  
He jerked his head over his shoulder, towards the direction from which the sound originated.  
  
Confusion would have been the best word; confused more so than frightened. That is not to say that he wasn’t afraid, but the absurdity of it all fascinated more than terrified him.  
  
Nathan Wallace was looking at Nathan Wallace.  
  
The doppelganger stood about ten feet away from him, hands in his pockets, smiling at Nathan, knowingly.  
  
“This is the drug,” the real Nathan said matter-of-factly. He persuaded his voice not to quake with the rest of him.  
  
His other self was dressed in the same clothes as he, verbatim. He even had the exact same nick on his cheekbone Nathan had accidently inflicted upon himself while shaving too quickly yesterday.  
  
This drug was the exact opposite of Zydrate which robbed one of their sense of touch. On this trip, Nathan could feel, see, hear everything clearly. Too clearly, much more vividly. The metal chair was cold and hard beneath him as he sat down in it once more.  
  
“You know who I am,” his other self stated confidently, eyes locked upon him.  
  
“I know who you are,” Nathan admitted.  
  
He had known instantly the identity of the figure before him, _which part_ of himself he was confronting.  
  
The smile that perked at the corners of his lips, the slight downward tilt of his head, the eyes that still looked straight on, straight through him, were intense beneath the shadow of his brow—all idiosyncrasies particular to Nathan’s state of mind seconds before he was shroud in the latex of his night surgeon attire.  
  
This was the man who had ripped organs from thousands, the legal assassin, the part of himself that delighted in the kill.  
  
The man who gazed back at him now was the Repo Man.  
  
Nathan’s final confirmation of his double’s identity was the fact he, the drug induced Nathan currently sitting in the chair, could no longer fathom how one could possibly take joy in having victims’ blood running through his fingers. He was the father, the husband, all sadness, all lament, all Shilo and Marni, all love for the home and family and the comfort they represented.  
  
Whatever psychology he used on himself to rationalize murder was literally split from his being and embodied in the man before him.  
  
Nathan felt fragile, like he had the night that Marni died, before he had begun his new occupation. He felt bare, momentarily flung back a few years in time then yanked back into the present, suffering emotional whiplash.  
  
Conversely, just as Nathan had been shaken by the separation of his current self from the part of him who had done unspeakable things, the Repo man that stood before him was equally fueled with a head rush of purity:  
  
It was like the first time high of a virgin drug user. The Repo Man was free from any reservations Nathan had bottled away within the corners of his past. He was unadulterated, made of nothing but desire, rage, lust, thrill, excitement, and jubilance.  
  
“Tell me,” The Repo Man demanded in what could only be compared to a purr. _I want to hear you say it.  
_  
“You’re the one who saved us,” Nathan whispered on a single exhale, all air, no voice. He dropped his head below his shoulders to stare unseeingly at his shoes.  
  
It was a confession more than an answer. Nathan had known this all along—if he hadn’t become content (no, that was too kind) if he hadn’t developed an unbridled _delight_ in killing, his occupation would have destroyed both him and his daughter long ago, probably before she would have even learned to speak.  
  
“Good, good,” The Repo Man nodded, grin unwavering, hands still in his pockets. He approached Nathan in slow, even steps that clicked against the porcelain tile, “That makes things a bit easier. I was worried I was going to have to prove that to you first.”  
  
Nathan was silent and didn’t look up. The Repo Man’s shoes came into his vision as he stood immediately in front of him, “Good, so you already know, that saves me time. We can move on to the matter I really want to discuss, the one you _haven’t_ accepted yet.”

Gentle fingers nudged Nathan under his chin, making him flinch. They were warm, warm and tangible.

“You _know_ that I saved us…” the Repo Man lifted Nathan’s chin to tilt his gaze upwards, meeting his own, “…but you still don’t like me.”  
  
His voice was strange and familiar, gravelly and deceptively sweet as he shellacked his words with feigned poutiness.  
  
Nathan swallowed hard, absolutely entranced,  
  
“I don’t have to like you.”  
  
The Repo man clicked his tongue and amiably slid his thumb down Nathan’s chin before retracting his fingers, “You don’t have to do anything, but I certainly don’t see any reason for you not to like me. I’ve helped you provide for Shilo, after all.”  
  
Nathan narrowed his gaze. His daughter’s name sounded unholy coming from that man, in that voice.  
  
Never had Nathan spoken hers nor Marni’s name once he was in the mindset to kill, suit on, scalpel in hand. He did not think of them at all once he was that far gone. They did not exist in those moments.  
  
He would lock them away and take them out delicately, slowly, only after he was back at home, showered and clean of all evidence. To recall them any sooner than that would be crippling, permanently damaging. He would be crushed under the weight of Marni’s disappointment, his daughter’s rejection: _Look what you’ve become.  
_  
“You’re what I have to hide her from,” Nathan answered quietly, tersely.  
  
“Whether I am hidden from her or not, I have still protected her. But the one person I can’t be hidden from is you, Nathan, and that’s becoming problematic seeing as you want nothing to do with me once the organs are delivered.”  
  
The Repo man’s smile widened as he drank in Nathan’s discomfort,  
  
“You can’t love yourself at all until you love all of yourself.”

“I don’t want to love myself, I don’t get that privilege.”  
  
“No, you haven’t been loved for a long time, have you?” The Repo man cooed in a ‘poor you’ mockery. His calloused digits wrapped around the armrests on either side of Nathan as he put most of his weight on his palms. Smiling lips hovered a breath above Nathan’s Adams apple, “Haven’t been touched.”  
  
Nathan tilted his head back in an initial attempt to jerk away from the closeness but only ended up exposing more flesh for his doppelganger to play with. The Repo Man flicked his tongue over the almost-gray stubble. The contact was hardly a fraction of a second but it was hot, ticklish, and real.  
  
This was a hell of a drug.  
  
“You used to masturbate, why don’t you do that anymore?”  
  
Nathan surprised himself when he tried to exhale the knot of breath he’d been holding and it came out shaking with a hint of sound in it.  
  
True, too many lonely nights without Marni occasionally had Nathan humming bursts of muffled voice into his pillow in the dead of night. His indelicate hand was no substitute for anything but it was a last, desperate attempt at something physical when nothing else in this world would ever suffice.  
  
However, for the last few years or so, he couldn’t even coax himself to do that much.  
  
“I’ve been…busy,” Nathan swallowed hard just as the Repo Man kissed his neck, causing his Adams apple to bob under his advancer’s lips.

“See? That’s what I mean. You don’t do anything for _you_ anymore. You don’t love yourself enough,” a determined hand cupped Nathan between his legs, fingers playing impatiently upon the fabric, “Or perhaps you think you don’t deserve this either?”  
  
Nathan straightened his neck, leveling his head, accidently sliding his forehead over the other man’s who was still that close to him. The Repo Man didn’t move away from the contact and let their heads stay joined, realigning Nathan’s lidded gaze with his own hungry stare,  
  
“Well you do deserve this, Nathan. I deserve this. We both deserve to be well-loved and well-fucked.”  
  
The Repo Man curled and uncurled his fingers atop the fabric, playing with Nathan’s shape through his loins. Tracing, swirling, rubbing fingers. Nathan remembered that’s how he used to get himself started, something only he would know.  
  
Nathan made a single noise of protest that hung on an indecipherable vowel before the Repo Man closed the space between their lips. The touch was solid, heavy; he could feel the force behind it.  
  
At first response, Nathan put up his hands in an attempt hold him back by the shoulders but the effort was weak and half-hearted. His palms simply rested upon him, timidly. It gave him the illusion of having some control over the situation.  
  
His mind was in a thousand places and he could actually hear the blood pumping in his ears. It took Nathan five whole seconds before he was able to recover from the shock of it all and turn his head sharply to the left, breaking the kiss with an audible click.  
  
The Repo Man wasn’t picky and immediately played with the new area of flesh that was offered, licking and sucking an earlobe between his teeth.  
  
“Stop,” Nathan quavered, unauthoritative.  
  
The Repo Man’s playful fingers began to squeeze and tug. Nathan’s legs wanted to spread themselves farther apart while he silently begged them not to.  
  
“I would...if I actually believed you wanted me to,” The Repo Man growled softly, directly into his ear.  
  
The crisp sound of a zipper being dragged down its metallic road mingled with the sound of heavy breathing. The quietness of the room was being broken and Nathan was entirely to blame: puffs of breath, starts of words that never made it past his lips, wet sounds that stuck in the back of his throat.  
  
Learned fingers worked their way past the open fly, under the waistband and the elastic of undergarments. A rude finger teased the too-sensitive slit of his erection, making Nathan open, close, then open his mouth again in a soundless _oh.  
_  
“You are Nathan Wallace,” The Repo man told him, licking down to mouth at his neck, “and sometimes you are me. When you are, you function brilliantly as a skilled assassin; dare I say you even have a little fun?”  
  
The intrusive finger stopped it’s teasing and all five now worked together to wrap around his length, introducing themselves with a tight squeeze. The Repo Man carried on,  
  
“Other times, I am you, and what do I get to feel? Nothing but regret and disdain for myself. It’s a bit unfair, don’t you think?”  
  
“Please,” Nathan answered shakily and it petrified him that he couldn’t distinguish whether he meant please stop or please continue.  
  
“We are going to fix this, Nathan. Fix this so that you accept all aspects of who you are. Fix this so that there is no separation between you and I…”  
  
When the Repo Man’s hand started to move Nathan shut his eyes tight. It was the exact technique he always used: sharp, but at a too-slow pace. They both knew this body well. This method had always worked best for him.  
  
“…I’m going to teach you to like me, Nathan. Hell, I’m gonna teach you to love me.”  
  
When Nathan turned his head back to face his double, perhaps to protest again or maybe even to question him, he was met with another powerful kiss. Neither of them had time to breathe before the contact and they sucked in air through their noses in two, long hisses.  
  
Nathan’s thighs trembled and gave, spreading, wanting.  
  
The Repo Man licked at his mouth, at his teeth, then nipped at Nathan’s bottom lip when he wouldn’t give him entry. Nathan gasped and the Repo Man tasted his way inside.  
  
What a scene, surely. Nathan reeled at the absurdity of it all: this drug induced subconscious masturbation.  
  
Still, despite all reason, Nathan was panting, erect, and fighting it less and less.  
  
“You want this. I know you do, because _I_ want this.”  
  
Given what had been established about this hallucination, this metaphysical trial, this was actually a logical argument. Fighting it was, in every sense of the word, lying to himself.  
  
Nathan gulped in air when the Repo Man released him from the barrage of lips and mouth and teeth.  
  
Then, suddenly, the weight and heat and solidity of the man shifted itself lower. The Repo Man knelt between Nathan’s legs and Nathan actually shivered when he was freed from the fabric, exposed to the cool air of the room. The chill lasted only for a split second before it was replaced with the velvety burn of a hot, determined tongue.  
  
“Fuck—“ Nathan choked, one hand blindly finding the an armrest, the other grabbing a fistful of the doppelganger’s shirt collar.  
  
The hands, Nathan confessed, had been familiar but _this_.  
  
This he hadn’t experienced since, god, had he ever felt anything like this? Marni had always been his princess; anything that wasn’t for her pleasure he hadn’t wanted to trifle with.  
  
The Repo Man circled his tongue around the plump head of Nathan’s cock which was now painfully erect and beading clear globes of excitement at the head. A generous tongue swiped the droplets away before they could run.  
  
The armrest was becoming slick from the sweat of his palm. Nathan couldn’t believe what he was watching, what he was _letting happen_ but, mercy upon him, the sensation was mind blowing.  
  
He watched himself hungrily lick his length clean. His own image went down on him, starved, ungraceful, driven with purpose.  
  
The sensation was overwhelming, too concentrated, and when the Repo Man finally decided that he had teased him enough, it increased tenfold.  
  
Hot lips wrapped tightly around him, swallowing him down in one, hard suck.  
  
Nathan pushed all of his weight onto his toes, lifting his heels off of the ground. His eyes squinted as tightly as though he had been blinded with a flash,

“Oh, oh, oh,”  
  
His hips bucked forward and up. The Repo Man held him in place by pushing down on them, lovingly thumbing his inner thigh in tiny strokes to calm him while he worked.  
  
Nathan forgot he was under the effects of a hallucinogen. He forgot about Marni and Shilo. He forgot about things that he thought were important when he was safe in the setting of his home.  
  
The Repo Man bobbed his head slowly, but the lethargic speed of each retraction was compensated by the force of the suction. Each time his nose nuzzled Nathan’s pubic hair the father, the husband lost a little bit more clarity of the difference between the man in the chair and the man on his knees.  
  
Cool air enveloped him again. The warmth left him with a wet pop and Nathan stared down at the Repo Man, brow furrowed upward, cock neglected, deed unfinished.  
  
“Good, isn’t it?”

Nathan didn’t answer. He had already answered by not pushing him away. Abashedly, he averted his eyes.  
  
“I’d like to feel good, too,” The Repo Man stood, taking the hand that once rigidly held his shirt collar into his own, pulling on it gently and prompting Nathan to stand too, which he did.  
  
Nathan half-expected the man to be taller than him when he stood, feeling small and vulnerable, open and exposed. But, of course, they were eye level, equal, exactly the same.  
  
The Repo Man knelt again, taking Nathan with him, lowering them both to the floor. With his guidance, they rolled until the Repo Man stood over him on all fours. The tile was as hard as it looked, just as cold too; it pressed its temperature like a sheet of ice through the back of Nathan’s shirt.  
  
The Repo Man was a dark shadow above him, backlit and silhouetted by the blinding florescent bulbs overhead. Nathan’s cock ached for attention and was disappointed when his double’s mouth was used too far north, on his own lips once again.  
  
Nathan groaned impatiently and the Repo Man delivered.  
  
Fingertips curled under the waist of his trousers and yanked downward, fingernails scraping Nathan only slightly. Nathan closed his eyes under the unnatural light, felt his shoes being discarded with the rest of his lower garments, hearing them flung to a forgotten corner of the room.  
  
The air was gently pushed out of his lungs as the Repo Man suddenly lifted Nathan’s legs off of the floor, doubled him over so he was staring up at his own knees, heels to the office-building ceiling panels.  
  
The Repo Man let the small of Nathan’s back rest against his chest while he gently parted his backside with his thumbs. His proud grin and steely eyes encouraged Nathan to watch him as he flicked his tongue over the taught ring of muscle.  
  
Nathan spread his fingers over the tile but they allowed no friction for him to hold on to. His sweaty palms slid over the floor with a loud squeak as he tried to wriggle into the sensation, horrified and mesmerized all at once. He threw his head back, chin pointed upward, chest heaving. Gravity aided a slow string of precum to drip onto Nathan’s chest for his shirt to drink up.  
  
That hot tongue abused his nerve endings in the best was possible until Nathan’s abdomen was visibly trembling, muscles curling tight, strained, coping. Then, just as before, the sensation was withdrawn. When Nathan looked up to see why, he saw the Repo man was using it to prepare his next intrusion: a solitary finger.  
  
“Nuh…” Nathan whined feebly, glasses askew on his face.  
  
“Don’t worry. If anyone knows how much you can take, it’s me.”  
  
Nathan raked his fingernails along the tile and laid his head back down, submissively, dare he say _trusting_. The finger introduced itself with a preliminary swirl then pressed its way slowly inside.  
  
Nathan actually groaned, causing The Repo Man to bite his own lip with satisfaction,

“Touch yourself, it’ll make things easier.”  
  
Nathan shook his head from side to side. He was willing to let certain events unfold but wasn’t quite ready to embarrass himself just yet.  
  
“Stubborn,” The Repo Man clicked his tongue and proved his point by sliding another finger inside of him, scissoring him open.  
  
Nathan let out another sound, deeper, from lower in his chest, grunted through clenched teeth.  
  
This might have been an interesting experience if he was testing the limits of his body twenty years earlier, but at forty, Nathan’s physicality was pretty set in its ways and protested the insertion in sync with his whimpering.  
  
After a few minutes of letting him adjust, the Repo Man pushed his two digits in as far as they would go. The muscle strangled them, refusing to give, but he held them firmly, patiently in place. After a few seconds, Nathan’s body accepted the intrusion and slackened.  
  
“ _There_ we go,” The Rep Man cooed to himself.  
  
Nathan’s legs were lowered as the Repo Man retracted himself, using his hands to undo his own zipper, shimmying the fabric down over the important parts. Nathan’s naked backside stung against the cold floor without the protection of clothing.  
  
“Oh,” The Repo Man smiled to himself, spitting a very generous amount of saliva onto his fingers and working the slickness onto his own leaking erection, “you’re going to love this, Nathan.”  
  
Nathan was nervous and tried to remember the things that used to always keep him calm, keep him grounded.  
  
He couldn’t anymore, those things were gone now.  
  
Another handful of natural lubricant was applied to Nathan’s backside and, though he should have been expecting it, he still gasped when the Repo Man took hold of him in the bends of his knees, hoisting his legs off the ground.  
  
“You’re scared,” The Repo Man noticed, “Hold on to me.”  
  
And the voice was Nathan’s. His, his own voice, his own advice. It was strange and comforting and could almost be mistaken for loving if Nathan could allow himself to believe that he was worthy of self-adoration.  
  
Nathan held on to him.  
  
He held on to the Repo Man and closed the space between the part of him that he’d tried to push away for seventeen years.  
  
There was no warning because three-two-ones always made you more apprehensive than you needed to be. Nathan pressed his forehead into the crook of his other self’s neck as he tried his best to allow that first, painful push inside. His fists curled into the back of the Repo Man’s shirt.  
  
Consonants were formed choppily, not adhered to anything with the absence of vowels. Nathan was cussing or praying or crying or begging. One or more was true.  
  
But the first full, throaty noise came from the Repo Man, trembling from him all gravely, low, and primal.  
  
It surprised Nathan, startled him that his other self that had seemed so dominant, so in control was not immune to the intoxications of pleasure either; and if pleasure truly was powerful enough to quell a monster, perhaps it _had_ been far too long.  
  
This was incredibly overdue and Nathan was wordlessly pining for it.  
  
The tile didn’t allow much stable ground and they slid a bit before the sweaty fabric of Nathan’s shirt grabbed a hold of the floor. Nathan could feel the knots of his spine ache against the hardness of the uncarpeted surface but the pain was almost unnoticeable next to other sensations which had his full attention.  
  
“God, you’re tight,” The Repo Man groaned, breath all hitched and broken.  
  
Nathan choked on a yelp.  
  
“ _Help_ yourself,” the dominant one begged him. Nathan knew what he meant. Hesitantly putting his shame aside, Nathan reached between their quivering stomachs and began to stroke himself, sharp and too slow. They rocked together.   
  
It hurt, but it was no more than he deserved for waiting so long.  
  
He deserved the pleasure even _more so._  
  
The two selves worked together for a common goal, just as they had always done, only now Nathan was a willing participant.  
  
“Please,” Nathan repeated airily, knowing exactly which please he meant this time.  
  
“You don’t have to beg,” The Repo Man explained, huskily. His arms encircled Nathan’s ribcage and he rolled once more, shifting their positions so Nathan’s knees made contact with the floor for the first time.  
  
The Repo Man held Nathan by the hips, helping him sit up on trembling thighs,

“Take what you want.”  
  
Nathan fumbled, using one hand to hold himself up, pressing it to the Repo Man’s chest. His other hand readjusted his glasses which almost succeeded in escaping him before the caught them mid-fall. He let his head fall below his shoulders, aware that his own weight had dropped him lower onto the Repo Man’s cock.  
  
He was too close and wanted this too badly to stop now. Inexperienced but determined, Nathan began to ride.  
  
The Repo Man threw his head back, just as Nathan had done, chin to the ceiling; the only difference was he was smiling, exhaling forcefully in a soundless laugh of delirious satisfaction.  
  
Nathan only realized his socks were left on when he tried to stabilize himself with the extra support of flesh stuck to tile and found that it wasn’t there. He had to work entirely with his thighs, his hips. He rose and sat repeatedly, cock bobbing with the momentum, peeking out from under his shirttails.  
  
“Come here,” The Repo Man choked, voice sticky. Feet flat to the floor, he bent his knees up, making Nathan fall towards him a few inches. The man on the floor thrust upwards, meeting Nathan each time he sat, and reached a hand between them to tug Nathan’s length, helping him get to where he needed to be.  
  
Nathan hadn’t been that far off anyway and the extra assistance shoved him over the edge.  
  
The Repo Man groaned, Nathan cried out.  
  
This one shivered, the other arched.  
  
One cursed, one sighed.  
  
Each reached for the other while they were weakest.  
  
“Come here,” The Repo Man repeated. The voice wasn’t even a whisper, it was the outline of a tone that said more than the two words meant. The Repo Man sat up slowly, still hugging Nathan around the waist so the wobbly man in his lap wouldn’t fall backwards.  
  
Their foreheads touched once more. They sat in silence for what seemed like a long time because nothing really needed saying.

“I’ve been ungrateful,” Nathan croaked after a miniature eternity, “Thank you for saving us.”  
  
“There is no us,” The Repo man moved forward as if to press his lips to Nathan’s in a last, finalizing kiss, but the contact never came and Nathan learned a lot about himself when he realized that he wished it had.  
  
“Remember that.”  
  
_Remember..._  
  
_Remember who you..._  
  
_...ember who_  
  
_Had the time..._  
  
_……………to…_  
  
_Remember who you are?_  
  
The audio started out as if he had been underwater and listening to someone on the surface speak, but within a span of ten seconds the voice grew so loud it exploded in his ear drums, hurting him it was so blaring.  
  
Nathan was disoriented by the volume for a moment before he realized that it was a normal speaking voice and he had returned to reality.  
  
The drug had filtered out of his system.  
  
He felt like he’d been dropped down some stairs.  
  
“Yes,” Nathan answered, tiredly, groggily.  
  
“Good, I want Mag’s eyes on my desk by tomorrow night,” Rotti commanded.  
  
One of the Largos untied the rope from Nathan’s hands.  
  
His wrists were red from being bound so long.  
  
  
  
-  
  
The End.


End file.
